Heartache and Buttercups
by cheepcheep36
Summary: A series of short Hetalia oneshots featuring multiple pairings; currently containing Spamano, PruCan, HolyTalia (HRE x Chibitalia), UsUk, and LiechArus. Also posted on AO3 and Quotev.
1. Tomato Paste

The rays of the early morning sun glow dimly between the shutters, directly onto Romano's eyes. He mutters several curses in Italian while still in between waking and the world of dreams. Strong arms around him bring about his senses and Romano realises where he is.

His eyes shift upwards to rest upon the image of his Spanish lover, still tucked in the folds of blankets and sleep. The sight of the man he loves brings a slight grin to his face, which he begins to suppress, but allows once he realises there's no one around to see.

He'll never admit it, but Antonio means the world to him. Always, Romano compares himself to his brother, drags himself down, thinks that no one will ever love someone like him. But being with Toni, just lying in his arms like this, makes him feel like the most beautiful man in the world. Of course, he'll die before he tells Antonio that.

He snuggles up closer to his love, burrowing his head into Toni's shoulder. Unfortunately for him, the sudden movement wakes the Spaniard, and his green eyes, still half-shaded, become visible in the early morning light.

"Lovi..." he murmurs, tightening the embrace.

The Italian's face grows red as he replies affectionately under his breath, "Damn tomato bastard," and presses himself close against Antonio's chest.

And for the time until the sun forces them to rise from their slumber, Romano is perfectly content to stay, enfolded in the warmth radiating from his lover's skin against his.

Not that he'll ever tell.


	2. Maple Wurst

"Breakfast is served," Matthew announces, looking uncharacteristically proud of himself as he sets the plate of pancakes and wurst in front of his boyfriend.

The albino man grins that famously unique grin, causing a glowing smile to spread across Matt's face.

"So, how is it?" Matthew asks cautiously. The Prussian looks up at him, face full of adoration for the other.

"Awesome, Birdie!" Gilbert exclaims through a mouthful of wurst and pancakes. The Canadian blushes, smothering a prideful, toothy grin by making awkward faces.

Matthew lays on his stomach next to his lover on the bench and wraps his arms around the albino's waist.

"Thanks, Gil," he whispers into the other's side, his words muffled by the red hoodie his lover wears. Gilbert chuckles at his partner's sheepishness.

"Love you, Birdie," he whispers back, pulling the Canadian up to face him. He grazes his thin lips over Matthew's soft, pink ones, breathing lightly on the tender flesh, before pulling his lover into a delicate kiss.

Gilbert carefully nibbles on the other's bottom lip, asking politely for entrance. Matthew complies, opening just the slightest amount to allow his lover to explore the cavern of his mouth.

Their tongues dance playfully, feelings of springtime and the lavender smell of Matthew's hair making Gil's heart flutter wildly. His blonde lover ends the kiss reluctantly after what feels like hours, blood pumping hot through his veins.

Both of them are left breathless for a moment before Matthew breaks the silence.

"If that's your reaction, I think I'll make this breakfast more often," he flirts, only half joking. Gil looks at him with passion and desire in his red eyes, tamed only by something else, something primal and refined, impractical and sensible, raging and content, contaminated and pure, a paradox to the fullest extent of the word.

Love.


	3. Buttercups

He watches from his spot in the field as Italy runs around in his little green dress. One moment, he's chasing a butterfly; in the next, he's picking flowers or rolling around making purring sounds.

'He's so cute,' he thinks, 'so playful, so perfect.' A chuckle escapes him, and Italy turns around. Panicked, he dives behind a tree as the other approaches slowly.

"Holy Rome," Italy asks from the other side of the trunk. He circles around to face the blond boy. "Holy Rome! Come play with me," he giggles, taking him by the hand and pulling him into the field.

Holy Rome sputters half-hearted protests and Italy giggles, tapping him on the shoulder.

"You're it," he yells and runs off, leaving the blue-eyed boy to stand there, dazed and confused.

'I'm... it? What do I do?'

"Come on! It's no fun when I'm the only one playing," Italy calls back at him, then stops suddenly. "Holy Rome... do you know how to play?"

The blonde shakes his head cautiously, and Italy's brown eyes open wide, glimmering with excitement.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you!" Holy Rome looks at his friend with worry flooding his features.

"Come on! So, in the game, one person is It. That's you! You chase after the other person and try to tag them. When you do, they're It and they try to tag you. Got it?" Holy Rome nods. "Alright, here we go. You're it!" Italy runs off again, this time with his playmate close behind.

Holy Rome reaches out as far as he can, barely grazing the other boy's back.

"Got-" he begins to call out, but trips over a rock and falls forward, taking Italy with him. They roll for awhile until they come to a halt with Holy Rome trapped beneath the auburn nation.

"Um... Italy? Can you get up?"

"I'm comfortable here for now," Italy replies, snuggling up against the other boy.

"Ita-" Holy Rome gasps, but silences himself as a deep blush spreads across his face.

'Enjoy the moment,' he thinks to himself, 'you won't be able to stay here much longer, and once you leave, you'll never see him again.'

He fidgets, an attempt to quiet those thoughts and holds his love tight against himself. After all, the next time he'll see this boy is the day he says goodbye.


	4. Nine Eleven

**Author's Note: I'm at least 97% sure this chapter sucks, so if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Secondly, this chapter features some kinda depressing stuff, so I thought I'd warn you before you read it. Lastly, for some reason it won't let me include a slash in the title for this chapter so I had to spell it out. Okay, that wraps up the notes for now. Well, here we go. Enjoy!**

Arthur has never run this fast in his life. He had rushed over to the States as soon as possible when he heard about the terrorist attacks going on.

The door to Alfred's room bursts open and a terrified England runs inside, looking around frantically for the younger nation. A small whimper echoes from the other side of the bed. Arthur hurries over, unprepared for the sight that awaits him.

Alfred lies in the fetal position, huddled in a sheet he managed to pull off the bed. Tears rush down his face, a pool of blood framing his shivering form. Occasionally, he cries out or writhes in pain, face contorted with agony.

England chokes back a sob at the heart wrenching image of his former brother. Thinking back to those horrible days of war brings even more tears to his eyes, leaving him powerless to restrain them. He regrets what he did all those years ago. He never should have tried to force so many rules upon the younger country, but it was for his own well-being. Or was it? England had simply wanted America to stay with him, but it's too late for that now.

The green-eyed man kneels next to the object of his affection, pulling him up and holding him tight against his chest.

"A-Artie," he whispers in between sobs, pressing his face into the older man's shoulder and crying the thousands of tears he had restrained over the centuries.

"Ssh, love, it'll all be fine, you'll see," the Englishman replies through his own downpour of emotions.

"Don't l-leave." Arthur is shocked by this request.

"Wh-" he begins, but is cut off by the taller nation.

"I'm s-sorry for the way I t-treated you back then. I'm sorry I'm always s-so an-noying and that I always p-push you away. I kn-know you have no reason to stay, but p-please, don't leave me here alone."

Arthur is distraught. What could have made him think he would do anything of the sort?

"I'm a h-horrible, self-absorbed b-brat. None of the other c-countries can st-stand me. I don't even-" Alfred stops abruptly, and a surge of tears crash down on Arthur's shoulder.

"Ssh, it's okay, poppet. You can tell me," he whispers into the younger man's ear reassuringly. It takes a few minutes for the American to calm down enough to continue.

"After… After I eat, I th-throw up," he mumbles, looking up at Arthur, ashamed. At this, the Englishman's heart shatters.

"Alfred…" he murmurs, pain and worry clouding his eyes. "Oh, poppet," he sighs, squeezing the man tighter against himself. "I'll help you, I swear it." He shifts his position, wrapping his arms all the way around his love. Alfred clings to him as though afraid he'll disappear if he lets go.

"I'm w-worthless. I don't c-care about anything anymore. I'm s-selfish, obnoxious, and ugly. No one could ever l-love a h-hideous wreck like me."

England pulls the other away from him, a look of slight fury on his face.

"Look into my eyes," he commands. The American obeys. "Now, you listen here. You are amazing. You'd give your life for any one of your friends. You can be loud sometimes, but nothing would ever be the same without you to make light of the situation. When I look at you, I see a man more beautiful than I could ever have wished for. And don't you ever, ever call yourself worthless. You save me from myself every day, keep me from becoming the monster I always feared I would. And you do so every day of your life. You are wonderful. And without you, I couldn't go on." Green eyes stare into deep blue, and a small nod confirms that the American gets the point.

A barely audible whisper escapes the American's throat, "I love you…" Arthur pulls his former colony into a tight embrace, disregarding the massive bloodstains in his once-pristine suit.

"I have always loved you, Alfred. And I will never let you go again."


End file.
